


ad nos converte

by Lasgalendil



Series: Salve Regina [2]
Category: Trust (TV 2018)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, gee Francesco how come you get two dads, sometimes family is a mother her son her husband and his husband
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasgalendil/pseuds/Lasgalendil
Summary: Regina is not a fool. Primo Nizzuto is a dangerous killer, not the broken boy in a dress she once knew, but she is unafraid for herself. For Francesco. She will always be wary of Primo, but cannot find it in herself to be jealous or begrudge him: they have both of them survived a world of privation, rage, and violence, both sought solace in the same gentle man. She’s loved Leo long enough to see herself in another soul.
Relationships: Leonardo/Primo Nizzuto, Leonardo/Regina (Trust), Primo Nizzuto & Regina
Series: Salve Regina [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015699
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	ad nos converte

Regina knows.

Not when Vittorio slaps his only son for wearing his cousin’s dress, but the next day. And the next. When despite the blackened eye and broken arm Primo Nizzuto is still in bows and lace. In the end the cousins are all sent away—even Don Salvatore’s daughters—and the dresses are burned.

A week later she wakes up to light streaming through the windows, the curtains missing. Primo’s next skirt bears a familiar floral pattern.

Regina knows.

Not when Vittorio drags him outside by his long hair, nearly scalps him in his drunken rage, but after. When Leo runs his fingers through her hair and Primo is sick with envy. When Primo sneaks up behind her and cuts off her braid. What can she do? What can she say? It would endanger her and Leo both to complain about Don Salvatore’s heir—and more importantly, it would endanger Primo. She’s seen what Vittorio Nizzuto is capable of. None of the bruises on that boy’s body will bear her name.

“I loved you hair,” Leo mourns, when he first sees her new bob. “But I like it short. It suits you.” Primo looks so angry he could spit.

Regina knows.

Not the way Primo has no friends his age, forever odd, always alone, but the way he latches onto Leo with such wolfish ferocity: someone wanted, someone trusted, someone valued for his wit and intelligence, respected for his skill with persuasion and reliability with a gun, a star rising all on his own merit. Primo is Family, yes; but born destined to be the spare, the heir of a Don desperate for a son of his own. And with every robbery, every school yard extortion, every broken nose and bloodied knuckle, it’s not Don Salvatore’s approval and affection he craves, it’s Leo’s.

Regina knows.

Not the way Primo watches Leo, with child-like adoration in his eyes, but the way he sneers at her on Leo’s arm, envious in a way no boy should be.

Regina knows.

Not that summer when Leo borrows a car and they drive off down a long, winding road into the forest, can fuck for the first time in reckless abandon without worrying about watchful eyes, eager ears, and whispered rumors and Leo catches Primo spying on them (“Apologize to her. Now!”) but on their wedding day, when the villagers gather round to compliment her and congratulate Leo. She looks for him, but Primo is nowhere to be seen.

Regina knows.

Not when Vittorio disappears a fourteen year-old Primo to Rome for a weekend to make him a man, but after. When he returns home with a split lip and a broken jaw, and half the village overhears his father call him a fag. Regina knows, and her heart aches. For Primo there are no school yard crushes, no stolen kisses under the summer sun, just a steady stream of strange women from out of town who arrive in dark cars and leave in them. Woman who arrive afraid. Leave ashamed.

Through it all Primo is silent. He doesn’t speak for over a year

Regina knows.

Not when Vittorio fails to come back from a hunting trip—he has always been a drunk, famous for it—but in the days after, during the search, while the village panics and mourns, and Primo watches her with a new, predatory certainty. He has the eyes of a killer now, and for the first time, she is afraid.

Regina knows.

Not when Primo shows up in her kitchen unannounced while Leo is away and she puts a hand over her belly instinctively, but when his eyes follow the movement, his jaw jumps, and he leaves the knife on the counter without a word. He will never forgive her for it, but she knows her son is safe: even on the nights Leo is gone and she wakes to the sound of someone moving in the house, shushing little Francesco and singing to him, she is unafraid. He is precious to Leo, and so to Primo. Even more so than Don Salvatore, her Francesco has gained a violent protector.

Regina knows.

Not when she and Leo find a sixteen year-old Primo half-starved and filthy in the dead of winter with no fire wood, eating a chicken raw, feathers and all, and Leo insists on bringing him home with them (“Damn Don Salvatore!”), but after. When Primo leaves them. Gives up a warm bed and a full belly and a beloved infant brother and returns to the abandoned cabin on the edge of the woods. Regina knows, and her heart breaks. Solitude and starvation are better than the sound their lovemaking. Better than Leo seeing him as another son.

Regina knows.

Not when Primo disappears to Rome, but when he returns months and again years later. Again. And again. And again. His hair is longer than ever, his pants strained around his ass and thighs. He comes home in tailored suits, driving a showy new car with the swagger of a man who knows he is a good fuck. There are no women on his arm. There will be no women. Regina knows with certainty the only women Primo Nizzuto has ever touched were the ones his father had forced him to.

He is unwanted. An inconvenience. An embarrassment. There is no life for him here in the village. No reason for his return.

…But there’s Leo.

She understands, in her own way. Has she not thrown in her lot with him, risked her life and more selfishly their son’s for the chance to be by his side? What crimes has she not—would she not—pardon solely for the sake of loving him?

Regina knows.

Even before the Getty boy, before the ransom, before they move to the city where the port to be is only a busy sea of construction, before the late nights and unexpected midnight visits and the politicians and the greased palms and control of Calabria, Regina knows. She’s always known. She’s never told anyone, not until Leo figures it out for himself, fucks Primo then confides it all to her in a fit of guilt, still reeking of sex. It’s not the first time he’s been unfaithful—one did not keep the company of men like Don Salvatore for years without being expected to partake in certain vices. But it is the first time since their marriage more than twenty years ago it wasn’t his eyes that had strayed, but his heart.

She’s seen a country and a continent devastated by war, watched strapping young men go off in uniform to return in caskets, if at all. Regina has known so many children who grew up without a father. How lucky, then, that their Francesco has not one, but two. She tells him as much.

“You knew?” Leo wonders.

“Of course I knew, you ridiculous man,” Regina scolds him. “I’ve shared your life, you bed for how many years now? I’d like to think I’ve known you long enough to know when you are in love.” 

Regina is not a fool. Primo Nizzuto is a dangerous killer, not the broken boy in a dress she once knew. But she is unafraid for herself. For Francesco. She will always be _wary_ of Primo, but cannot find it in herself to be jealous or begrudge him—they have both of them survived a world of privation, rage, and violence, both sought solace in the same gentle man. She’s loved Leo long enough to see herself in another soul.


End file.
